


This is a Place Where I Feel at Home

by xalexudinovx



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Karamel Secret Santa 2019, Light Angst, Mike Matthews - Freeform, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xalexudinovx/pseuds/xalexudinovx
Summary: The holidays have always been such a weird time for Mike Matthews ever since he could remember. He remembers most Christmases in vivid detail even though it was all too often one disappointment after another. Perhaps watching an abundance of Christmas movies as a kid is to blame because something deep in his chest would squeeze almost painfully tight every time the movie would come to an end with everyone happy and smiling as they hugged.
Relationships: J'onn J'onzz & M'gann M'orzz, J'onn J'onzz | Hank Henshaw & Mon-El, Kara Danvers/Mon-El, Mon-El & M'gann M'orzz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	This is a Place Where I Feel at Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bubble2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubble2/gifts).



> YES, I'M POSTING A CHRISTMAS FIC AT THE END OF MARCH...*Ariana Grande hair flip* AND WHAT ABOUT IT?
> 
> This fic is for the lovely Susanna (@Lenod) as part of the Secret Santa Challenge.
> 
> Title is from "To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra. Tags and characters will be updated as needed. All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!

The holidays have always been such a weird time for Mike Matthews ever since he could remember. He remembers most Christmases in vivid detail even though it was all too often one disappointment after another. Perhaps watching an abundance of Christmas movies as a kid is to blame because something deep in his chest would squeeze almost painfully tight every time the movie would come to an end with everyone happy and smiling as they hugged.

Growing up as the only son of two Wall Street tycoons meant that there were no shortage of expensive gifts at Christmastime, but there was only so much enjoyment a young boy could get out of playing with the newest toys and gadgets by himself as he listened to his parents scream insults at each other in the next room until a door would slam and their ridiculously spacious mansion would return to its usual deafening silence.

By the time he was seven years old, he completely lost interest in the presents they spent hundreds of dollars on. He continued to politely thank his parents, then retreated to his bedroom trailed by the current nanny, but rather than play with his new toys, he piled them in a corner and proceeded to get into bed after pulling Teddy out from his hiding spot at the back of the closet.

Teddy, his most cherished possession, was a gift from his first nanny who was also the last nanny he got attached to after witnessing his mother fire her, claiming that she was stealing from the house. The nannies that followed never stayed for more than three months; if they lasted that long without quitting on their own, his mother fired them, her reasons becoming weaker every time. So he sent the nanny away and then cried himself to sleep, Teddy clutched to his chest.

And so his world continued to spin crookedly on its axis until roughly four months after his twelfth birthday when his father disappeared. Two weeks later, his mother was handcuffed and taken away, and Mike’s world was fully upended as her face was plastered all over the local news with words like “murder” and “embezzlement” and “blackmail”.

Christmas that year was the first spent with a foster family, a middle-aged couple and their nineteen-year-old son, and their complete lack of festive spirit was surprising, but not entirely unwelcome. Mike found himself grateful that he didn’t receive any gifts from them, especially when he came across their son, Brian, smoking weed in his bedroom and was offered a joint. Trying not to gag on the smell, he staunchly refused and hightailed it back to his own room. 

A different family took him in the next year, a kind couple, the type who smelled like sweet vanilla and baked cookies and held neighborhood barbecues. Their daughter was a different story. When Siobhan wasn’t angry, she was petty and sarcastic, and the only thing that mellowed her out was getting drunk. Mike had a hunch that her parents were aware of their seventeen-year-old daughter’s alcohol stash, but were too afraid of her to say anything. 

Christmas was a simple affair for the Smythe’s; Mike received a new sweater and a refurbished tablet and Siobhan gave him a bottle of alcohol after her parents had gone to bed and that’s how thirteen-year old Mike found himself drunk for the first time as he and Siobhan passed the bottle back and forth in her room. That night, she revealed that she knew her dad was cheating on her mom, and he talked about his parents for the first time since his mother’s arrest. He passed out in her bed sometime after midnight and threw up the next morning as Siobhan laughed. It was the first time he heard her laugh. 

There was something intoxicating about shoving down all of his feelings and muting the echoes of his parents’ fights in his head, so getting wasted with Siobhan turned into a fairly regular occurrence and there’s no telling how long it would have gone on if she hadn’t gotten drunk at a party one night and fallen three stories off the roof of a building. A broken leg, four cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured collarbone, and a head injury left Siobhan in a coma and left Mike without a home again as he was immediately pulled from the Smythe’s.

The next home the system put him in was a super religious couple whom Mike didn’t really mind...until they tried to convert him. He quickly realized just how unhinged they were when he heard Mr. Coville talking about ancient magic and prophecies and stumbled across their secret shrine, the words “Cult of Yuda Kal” and “Children of Juru” emblazoned in deep red at the top of the elaborate arrangement. 

Two days later, he decided he’d had enough of the system and stole whatever cash he could find in the Coville house, packed his few belongings in a backpack, and ran away without looking back.  He took the Greyhound with no specific endpoint in mind, for hours at a time whenever the drivers were willing to overlook the fact that he was a minor without the proper paperwork in exchange for some cash, and walked when he couldn’t catch a bus. 

Winter took him by surprise. Cold winds suddenly lashed across his face, no mercy for a homeless fourteen-year-old kid. The days blurred together into a half-frozen haze and he didn’t realize exactly what day it was when he was approached by a man while shivering in an alley behind a row of restaurants.

The light in the alley was abysmal and he was half convinced he was hallucinating when the man crouched down next to him, a long, thoughtful look on his dark face. “Son, what are you doing out here?” he finally asked in deep, gentle voice. 

Mike promptly burst into tears. It wasn’t his finest moment - he was freezing and starving and couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper shower and he was just  _ so tired _ .

The man helped him up as his tears froze to his cheeks, and with a large hand on his shoulder, steered him towards the back entrance he’d come out from. A short corridor led them in to the open space of a festively decorated bar where a woman wearing a Santa hat was pouring drinks behind the counter. The smell of grease hanging in the air prompted a loud growl from Mike’s stomach.

“Megan, could you get a burger and fries for my friend here?” the man called out. 

She nodded with a smile and Mike numbly followed the man over to a booth by the windows. As they sat down, the man took off his coat and draped it over Mike’s still shivering shoulders

"You can call me John," the man said with a faint smile after they were settled in. "Can you tell me your name, son?"

His voice failed him on the first try, his throat too tight from disuse and the tears and cold, but he managed to hoarsely give his first name the second time. 

"Nice to meet you, Mike. How about we get some food in you and then a hot shower and a good night's rest, that sound okay?"

All he could do was nod as he held back another bout of tears. "T-Thank you, sir," he choked out.

“On the house,” Megan announced cheerily as she waltzed over and set a full plate and a large mug of steaming frothy cocoa down in front of him. Mike’s stomach let out another painful growl at the sight.

“I was going to pay for it,” John grumbled good-naturedly.

“You’re a good man, John Jones, but this one is on me,” Megan replied softly with a smile, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his blushing cheek before turning towards Mike. “You just let me know if you need anything else, alright — ?”

“Mike. I-It’s Mike,” he interjected, nodding through blurry eyes. “Thank you, m’am.”

She laughed, her smile so kind and eyes so warm that it made his heart ache. “Please, just call me Megan. I’ve got to get back to the bar, but holler if you need a refill.” She threw an almost scolding look towards John. “And don’t try to slip any money to Abby or Joe, I meant it when I said it’s on the house.”

John ducked his head and groaned. “You know me too well.”

“Damn right,” Megan replied with a smirk.

Mike watched John as Megan walked away, the fondness written all too clearly across the man’s face, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from turning up in a half-smile (though it felt a bit strange with his facial muscles unused to the expression). “You _like_ her.”

John’s gaze snapped back to his and he let out a surprised snort of laughter, shaking his head. “Eat your fries, kid,” he retorted without any heat.

Still smiling, Mike scarfed down the food and cocoa hungrily, burning his tongue in the process but hardly caring. It was the best food he ever tasted. 

After stuffing himself full and refusing any seconds, he watched John sneak a generous tip into the tip jar and then unthinkingly let himself be guided towards the back stairwell. 

“Come on, I live just right upstairs.”

The last hour fully caught up to him causing Mike to stop short, and John’s hand fell from his shoulder. “I-I shouldn’t. You’ve done enough, John. I should go,” he mumbled, staring down at his worn sneakers.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” John answered with a frown. “I’m not going to let you go back to shivering in the cold.”

“So, what, you’re kidnapping me now?” Mike huffed, crossing his scrawny arms defiantly and trying to tamp down the warm feeling rising in his chest. It had been a long time since someone cared about him, but it wasn’t smart to get attached. 

John sighed. “A shower and a good night’s sleep. That’s it. Humor me, kid. After that, if you want to go, you can.”

In the end, his selfishness won out, luring him in with the thought of a hot shower, and he followed John up the stairs.

The apartment was small and minimally furnished, but it was warm and clean and the coziest place Mike had seen in months. Handing him a fresh pair of sweatpants and a shirt, John showed him where the bathroom was and left him to shower. He nearly burst into tears again when the hot spray washed over him and he hoped that John wouldn’t mind too much if he stayed in the shower a few extra minutes. 

Once he was clean and dressed in the very loose change of clothes, he made his way back to the living room, suddenly feeling overly small and self-conscious. 

“Why are you doing this?” he blurted out after a moment, watching John lay out a few blankets and an extra pillow on the couch. 

The older man paused for a second in fluffing the pillow, then set it down and gave him a thoughtful look. “Because someone once did it for me. His name was Jeremiah,” John said softly, a faraway look passing over his face briefly. “He offered me a helping hand when I needed it most. You have your whole life ahead of you, son. And there’s no shame in accepting help to get back up if you fall down.”

A simple thank you somehow seemed laughably inadequate, so nearly running forward, Mike wrapped his arms around the older man as he sniffled into his sweater.

John grunted at the impact, but then chuckled and brought both hands up to pat Mike on the back. 

"Alright, let's get some sleep," John said, gently pulling away. "I hope the couch is okay."

"It's perfect," Mike reassured him thickly. It certainly beat sleeping huddled under a bridge or even that one time that he had to take refuge in a crowded homeless shelter during a bad snowstorm and they gave him a thin cot to sleep on.

After helping him get situated and tucking the blankets in around him, John switched off the light in the living room, leaving just the hallway light that led to his own bedroom, and turned to go.

The pillow under Mike’s head seemed impossibly soft and he was already feeling drowsy, with his belly full and toes warm for the first time in a while. “John?” he called out sleepily.

“Hmm?”

“What day is it?”

John let out an amused laugh, his teeth bright in the dim shadows. “December twenty-fifth. Merry Christmas, kid.”

Mike’s lips twitched into a smile and his eyes slipped closed as sleep pulled him in. “Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling Christmas-y yet?? Drop a kudos and comment below and let me know what you think! And don't worry, Karamel is coming up...


End file.
